


The Undertow

by ViaLethe



Series: The Popular Theory [8]
Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: The ship's quiet to Mal's ears, but River still hears plenty.





	The Undertow

The ship is quiet; silent even, to River's ears. To her mind, it's humming, pulsing with feelings running sharp down wires, through the coating on cables, ground down into the dirt on the floors.

When he finds her (he always finds her, even when her mind doesn't call out to him, even when she stays quiet and hidden up in the walls, just to see if she can; he always knows) perched on a catwalk railing, her back to a crossbar with one leg dangling over into space, she doesn't let him get a word in, doesn't let his voice join in the hum in her blood.

“Shh,” she says, holding up her hand. “I'm listening.”

Mal tilts his head, frozen for a moment, listening too; he doesn't hear, but she forgives this. “Is there somethin' I should be hearing here or is this one of those times I ain't supposed to ask?”

She makes a face at him; after all, it's hardly her fault that the last time he asked that question, he hadn't wanted the answer.

“Not listening to Simon and Kaylee today. There's a snake in their garden, paradise lost,” she explains, swinging her leg idly, watching Mal's fingers twitch.

“Ah. That'd go a ways towards explaining why the doc looked mighty put out last time I saw him.”

She nods, wrapping her hands around the cool grit of the railings, turning her head to face him. “Quiet, but bubbling up just under the surface.”

He's got his arms resolutely crossed over his chest as he stands there in front of her, hands safely tucked away, but she _hears_ anyhow, hears the teeth-gritting worry and irritation in his thoughts even before he speaks. “What'd I tell you 'bout sitting like that? It's not nice, making everyone tiptoe 'round you cause they don't want you to be startled and go falling off.”

“I wouldn't fall,” she says, very seriously, because it's important that he hears it, that he knows that; still, she moves herself towards him, both legs on the right side of the rail now, close enough to touch. Mal's eyes meet hers, and she pulls her scattered thoughts together with an effort, wondering how much he'll hear under her words.

“ _Serenity's_ a bad name for this ship.”

“What?” he says, blinking, taking a step back from her, like she's tossed him off balance. “No it ain't. My ship, my name. Suits her just fine.”

“Serenity – the state of being serene, calm, steady, tranquil. The opposite of what she tells me.” Hopping off her perch, she paces closer to him, close enough that her shoulder brushes his arm as she passes. “Everything here is made of passion,” she says, reaching out with her far hand, sliding her fingers over the metal, listening to the hum just out of hearing. “Emotion. The past, and the present.”

A long moment passes, seconds layered over each other and falling into the past while he stands watching her. River waits, her own breathing loud in her ears, until he moves, his fingers brushing up along hers, over her wrist, feather-light.

“Could be that's so,” he says. “Course, there's always a future to be thinkin' on too.”

River smiles, because he's _heard_ ; around them, _Serenity_ purrs.


End file.
